


That day I woke up in my friend’s pants — literally

by ScriptaManent



Series: Seijoh week 2020 [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bodyswap, Getting Together, Hanamaki has it so bad for Matsukawa it's not even funny, Hanamaki has no shame, Implied Sexual Content, Iwaizumi knows more than he lets on, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Matsukawa too but he's more discreet about it, Mutual Pining, Originally for Seijoh Week 2020, POV Alternating, Pining, Swearing, These two are chaotic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptaManent/pseuds/ScriptaManent
Summary: Body swaps only happen in movies and fanfictions, or so that was what Matsukawa and Hanamaki thought before they woke up one day and found themselves inhabiting each other’s body without any logical explanation. They have no idea how to reverse the process, but it’s okay, it should be a fun experience, like the best prank ever pulled, right? Right?
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Series: Seijoh week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985593
Comments: 5
Kudos: 170





	That day I woke up in my friend’s pants — literally

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally planned for [✰ Seijoh Week 2020 – Day 7: Accidental Bodyswap AU ✰] but an unplanned nsfw scene made it into the fic and so I decided to post it out of the collection, since only sfw works were allowed!  
> This isn't very explicit, it's "show, don't tell", but it definitely gets to the point.

Issei opened his eyes, only to snap them shut again. Even his sleepy brain could tell that something wasn’t quite right, but it refused to process the information. There was something seriously wrong going on, that was all that he could tell for sure.

He tried again, slowly, and couldn’t shake off that weird sensation in his muscles. It felt… _strange_ , as if his body didn’t belong to him. Everything was foreign but the room he was in.

But again, the thing was, it wasn’t _his_ room.

The first thing that struck Issei, before he even switched on the light, was the silence. He could hear the lazy awakening of a blackbird in the nearby tree — this was something that _never_ happened to him. He had twin little sisters who shared the room beside his, and these two for sure didn’t know quiet.

The next detail that caught his attention was that he instinctively found the light switch, and he found out why as soon as he got used to the sudden brightness. This wasn’t some unknown place he had somehow teleported to.

He knew the softness of the bedsheets under his skin — he had slept there a few times, pressed against the wall in a desperate attempt at not pushing the other over the edge by accident. He knew the dusty white of the walls and the patterns of the ceiling — he had spent hours staring at them, procrastinating whatever test they were supposed to study for. He knew the room, its furniture, and he knew its owner for he had spent three years watching him, reading him, learning every side of him… What he didn’t know, however, was the coldness of the bed when Hanamaki wasn’t there by his side.

Issei let his hand drop onto the mattress, bouncing softly, and his blood froze in his veins when it entered his line of sight. His hand wasn’t _his_ hand. It was thinner, the tone lighter, and it was _familiar_.

He jumped to his feet, nearly tripping over the bedsheets and the foreign weight of his body.

 _Oh no_ , was his only thought.

He rushed to the mirror and stared, mind blank, at the reflection that it sent back to him. Hanamaki stared back, a puzzled look on his face that conveyed every feeling raging inside of Issei.

The phone buzzed on the bedside table, releasing him from his internal torment.

He stared a few more seconds at his own name on the screen and picked up.

“Holy shit, you will never believe what’s happened to me—” his voice said in an excited tone, words following each other in a rushing flow. It sounded so out of character that his mind briefly disconnected.

Well, at least he knew where Hanamaki was. And even if he didn’t know what had caused them to swap bodies — was that a fucking movie?! —, he was glad that it wasn’t someone else who had inherited his. He was in — relatively — good hands.

* * *

When he woke up again later that morning, Takahiro was still trapped in his best friend’s body. He couldn’t believe that it all was real — but the screams coming from the nearby bedroom assured him this wasn’t just a nightmare or a weird dream.

Well, everything should be alright as long as he avoided catching his reflection in the mirror.

When he had called Matsukawa in the middle of the night, they had tried to come up with a solution, but since the situation hadn’t sorted itself out by the morning, they had no choice but to carry on with their lives. Honestly, Takahiro thought, it shouldn’t be that hard to do.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table near him and he unlocked it to find a message coming from his own number.

< Remember to feed the goldfish in my room >

Takahiro flicked a quick glance at the round bocal perched among stacks of video games in the middle of a bookshelf. The fish stared back at him, floating upside down at the surface.

< Don’t think it’s gonna be necessary > he quickly typed away with a grimace.

He grabbed Matsukawa’s uniform from the chair where it had been resting and disappeared into the bathroom, trying hard not to think too much about the situation. Obviously, he failed miserably.

As soon as he caught a glimpse of tan skin and dark hair in the mirror, his stomach did a backflip, fluttering and sending discharges of electricity in every direction.

Takahiro swallowed audibly and flicked a look at the doorknob behind him to make sure he had locked it. Then, he carefully approached the mirror and stared at the dark gaze that his reflection sent back.

He could see familiar flickers of green dancing in them, like leaves carried away by the win— what the hell, no, he wasn’t going to start getting all poetic!

He leant closer to the surface, retreating quickly when his forehead hit the glass, and clicked his tongue at his stupid behaviour. But still, if Takahiro had one opportunity to shamelessly stare at Matsukawa to his heart’s content, it was now.

He traced the outline of his jaw, a light stubble rasping his knuckles, and ran a hand through his messy hair, tangling shaky fingers in the curvy locks. He couldn’t help but follow the smooth skin of his throat, his heart beating fast in spite of the calm state of his mind — well, more like the comatose state of his mind. There was a mole, barely darker than Matsukawa’s skin tone, that stood out at the exact limit of his collar, one that Takahiro had never noticed in three years of spending most of their time together, and he wondered how much more he could dream of discovering about his best friend.

If it weren’t for his own dignity — but again, this one he was willing to let go of anytime — and his respect for Matsukawa’s boundaries — but what he didn’t know couldn’t harm… no that wasn’t right —, he would have stripped down right there just to take a good look at what he could only dream of having.

In the mirror, his reflection looked back at him, intense and curious, stained with feelings and flaming with hunger. It stole his breath away. If this expression had come from the real Matsukawa, Takahiro would probably have died on the spot. 

* * *

< What about we skip classes this morning? >

Takahiro had never had such a bad idea ever in his life. Compared to this, that one time he had tried microwaving his cousin’s Barbie doll had been a genius’s experiment.

He had stupidly thought that carrying on with their lives would be easy, that it would be the best prank ever pulled and that was it. Oh, how wrong had he been.

Getting texts coming from his own number was already strange enough, but meeting with Matsukawa and having to look at his own self from someone else’s perspective was creeping the hell out of him.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” Matsukawa asked, eyeing him with piercing hazel eyes.

They were sitting on a bench in a desert park far enough from their school for nobody to spot them.

Takahiro shrugged, trying to keep his thoughts on the conversation, but focusing turned out to be a real challenge.

“I don’t know if anybody will be able to tell the difference anyway. I mean, of course if it had been you and, say, Iwaizumi, I would have been able to tell you weren’t _you_ , but the others might pay less attention.”

“And during practise?” Matsukawa continued, arching an eyebrow — and oh God, it was already weird to have to look at his own self, but seeing Matsukawa’s micro-expressions on his own face was downright freaky. “Oikawa will probably figure out that something doesn’t add up when he sees me—” he gestured at Takahiro “—going for a spike.”

“Eh,” the other shrugged again, for lack of a better reaction. “They’ve never noticed us switching jerseys, they might not notice us switching bodies.”

“Still,” Matsukawa said when the silence between them stretched awkwardly. “I really wonder what happened.”

“Me too. I’m just glad it happened to be you. I wouldn’t have been able to bear Oikawa walking around in my body,” Takahiro winced.

Matsukawa laughed with Takahiro’s voice and his stomach twisted once again in his guts.

* * *

If Issei had thought that practise would be weird, nothing had prepared him for Oikawa waiting for him out of the locker room to take him aside.

“Makki!” he called, waving, when Issei started heading for the stairs.

The setter didn’t flinch when both his friends turned to him. Just like for Oikawa and Iwaizumi, most people used to see Matsukawa and Hanamaki as two parts of a set. Wherever one went, the other usually followed, and nobody had ever questioned it.

Hanamaki pushed Issei forward, a discreet hand on his back.

“I’ll go ahead,” he declared nonchalantly, and Issei frowned at the tremor he heard in his voice.

He would probably have been able to read his friend’s thoughts more easily if he hadn’t had to look at his own face staring back at him.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Issei said back slowly, his attention taken by their captain who waved back at the other.

He waited for Hanamaki to be out of earshot to speak again, his charming smile melting like snow under the sun.

“Swings?” he suggested, and Issei nodded carefully, both curious and confused.

He followed him to the park where Hanamaki and he had spent half of the day. It had been a weird morning, really, having to look at his friends speaking in his voice. But still, only half of Issei’s mind had been paying attention to the conversation. The other half had been busy looking for small pieces of Hanamaki in every gesture, and even though it had been mildly disturbing to search them on his own face, finding Hanamaki in there had been oddly comforting. He might not be in the right body, it was still the same guy he was looking at, all it took was to look past the appearances.

It was in the way he frowned whenever something bothered him, his eyebrows knitting together in a focused expression that didn’t feel quite right on Issei’s ever laid-back features. It was in the energy with which his arms flew in the air when he spoke. It was on the way his eyes lingered on Issei’s whenever he complained about something and waited for a reply from his friend.

His energy was different from Issei’s. It was more vivid, more chaotic, sharper, maybe, but even though the whole situation was confusing for both of them, Issei was glad to find things that hadn’t changed.

Oikawa went directly to the playground, as if used to going there, and Issei copied him when he dropped onto one of the kids’ swings. They stayed silent a moment, Oikawa swaying lightly, and Issei followed the movement after a while — Hanamaki would probably not have stayed still.

“You sure you’re alright?” the captain eventually asked, side-eyeing his friend as he propelled himself higher.

Issei’s feet scraped the ground as he instinctively put the swing’s motion to a stop.

“Yeah, it’s just… I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” he said, looking away — it wasn’t totally a lie, both Hanamaki and he were sleep deprived. “You know how it is.”

Oikawa stopped his swing, anchoring his feet into the dirt, and narrowed his eyes to study his friend.

“Mattsun,” he began, and Issei shot him a startled look.

Had he already guessed the situation? How—

“Listen, I know it’s weird but—” Issei blurted out of all a sudden, his heart beating faster as he stumbled over words.

Oikawa sighed, waving his hand to cut him off.

“Why would it be weird?” he began with a scowl that made Issei shut up and frown in return. “But anyway, you haven’t told him anything yet, have you?”

The other blinked a few times, staring at Oikawa and trying to make sense of his words. Told what?

“I mean, both of you were acting strange today and you skipped school this morning, so I was wondering,” Oikawa continued, his hands speaking their own language, before his gaze focused once more on a very lost Issei.

“Told what?” the latter repeated, only this time it was out loud.

Oikawa raised an eyebrow at this friend, speaking casually. “Duh, that you have the biggest crush on him?”

Wait, _what?_

“Oh, don’t give me that look, I know you do!” The captain never stopped talking. “Um, Makki, you sure you’re okay? Seriously, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” he laughed nervously, his hands gripping the metal chains of his swing. “If you’re wondering how I found out, it’s just that… you’re not being very subtle you know… You’d have to be blind not to see it.”

His voice was softer, empathetic, perhaps, but so distant that Issei barely heard his next words. He started when a hand fell on his shoulder, and jumped to his feet.

“I… I think I should really get some sleep,” he stuttered, nearly tripping over his own feet.

He heard Oikawa calling for him — for Hanamaki — behind him and doubled his pace.

What was that, now? Takahiro _liked_ him?!

* * *

The first school week passed by without Issei and Takahiro getting their bodies back, and in the absence of a better outcome, they found it more convenient for the two of them to exchange their phones so that they would be able to use their own Takahiro regretted not taking the time to dig into Matsukawa’s pic folders, but on the other hand, he also was glad that his friend hadn’t found his own private folder...

Somehow, a routine started to settle for Takahiro. Wake up, stare a bit too long at his reflection, go to school, play middle blocker — this one was surprisingly hard, especially considering Matsukawa’s level… he always had the perfect timing, which Takahiro... had not —, go back home and play with the twins, homework... Actually, what really bothered him was that Matsukawa didn’t seem to get used to their new condition as easily as he did. Since the second day, he had started acting weirdly, and Takahiro couldn’t tell whether it was from the body swap or something else. Matsukawa was usually a pretty adaptable guy, but Takahiro figured that their current situation might be a bit off bound for his friend.

At school, even if some of their friends or classmates sent them curious looks from time to time, they probably thought that the two of them were pulling a prank — Takahiro was a bit gutted he had never come up with one as good as acting as each other. Hence, nobody called them out on their odd behaviour. Who in their right mind could guess they had switched bodies, anyway?

In a matter of a few days, only a surprisingly small number of incidents happened. On the first day, when Matsukawa had been kept behind by Oikawa, Takahiro had nearly gone back to his formal house after school — but fortunately this wouldn’t have seemed so out of place considering the boys’ friendship. Some time during the week, they had switched clothes for practise — again, this was nothing uncommon for the two of them. Lastly, on Thursday, a girl that Takahiro knew nothing about had visited and hugged him like he was his favourite person in the world. He hadn’t known whether to be happy or jealous, and it was confusion that took over for most of the evening — he would later learn that she was Matsukawa’s cousin.

His heart had broken one time, however, when he had noticed the way Matsukawa had looked at his sisters when they had gone home together to study. The middle blocker may always be complaining about his siblings, it was painfully obvious that he missed them greatly. That was what had pushed Takahiro to suggest the movie session.

In a desperate resort, they had spent their whole Saturday binge-watching crappy movie after crappy movie, playing everything they could find that featured the body swap trope, trying to find a common pattern or inspiration on how to switch back. None of them had been really interesting so far. Most of the movies were about a mother and a daughter fighting and wishing they could switch bodies, and obviously Takahiro and Matsukawa’s situation was entirely different. They hadn’t had the strength of will to explore the Christmas movies yet — they were keeping it for another day.

Takahiro woke up on the next morning and left the bed lazily, not even bothering to check which body or room he was in this time. He could feel from the stiffness in his lower back that these were Matsukawa’s, anyway — seriously, this guy needed to do something about his shitty mattress.

Takahiro went straight for the bathroom, grabbing whatever clothes he found on his way, and stopped in front of the mirror to eye the comb in front of him. A sigh escaped his lips. Honestly, there was no way Matsukawa had ever used it, not with the way his hair tangled every time he tried brushing it.

He shrugged — not that the bed-head look had ever looked bad on Matsukawa anyway. Besides, he quite liked the way it went into every direction in the morning — he only wished he could see it from his own body’s perspective.

Grunting something that even he didn’t understand, Takahiro opened the tap and splashed water onto his face. When he raised his gaze again, he was left staring at his best friend’s face in the mirror, water dripping from his chin, droplets caught in a few strands of hair.

“I’m still not used to this,” he said in Matsukawa’s voice, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at his sleep-heavy, raspy tone.

Damn it, he wanted to hear it coming from its original owner. He wanted to hear that voice speak to him without it being something he had thought of.

Takahiro had lied to himself, he hadn’t accomodated, he had only tried not to think about it too hard. And as strange as it was, he missed Matsukawa. And what he missed the most was their moments together.

Straightening up, he glanced at the lock once more, leaning closer to his reflection as soon as he was sure it was in place. There was a lump in his throat. What he was about to do was ridiculous, but he had been wanting to do it for days… His heart raced a bit faster as he dived into the dark brown gaze — it wasn’t the one he wanted to meet, but it was a convincing substitute if he put enough intensity into it.

“Hey, Hiro,” he said casually, as he imagined Matsukawa would say it. “Will you go out with me?”

He stared a bit longer, holding his breath, until something clenched in his chest and he jerked away from the sink.

Stupid, he was stupid.

He flicked another quick look at his reflection; this time, a frustrated frown looked back at him. Had he been in his own body, Takahiro knew that his face would have been sporting the deepest shade of red, but Matsukawa didn’t blush as easily. He was as much glad for it as he hated it — he was only a bit sad that he didn’t know what a flustered Matsukawa, the real one, would look like.

* * *

“Hey, just let me know if I’m bothering you and I’ll leave,” Iwaizumi assured in all sincerity one more time, lifting his gaze from his notebook to look at Takahiro.

The other shook his head, turning his math book to the next page — he didn’t notice the rows of kanji and idioms that would have informed him that this was, in fact, not his math book.

“No, we agreed on studying together,” his host opposed, frowning at the page — nothing made sense. “Sorry I had forgotten, I had a lot on my mind.”

Slowly, Iwaizumi closed his notebook, pushing it away. Takahiro had done his best to avoid looking at these piercing eyes but it seemed Iwaizumi had other plans for him.

The vice-captain waited a bit, and his lips curved into a mocking smile.

“I don’t think you’ll get far with your equation if you keep using your literature book. So, do you wanna talk about it?” he added, lifting an eyebrow.

Takahiro let out a sigh. He eyed the other, part of himself glad that he wouldn’t have to study anymore, and leant back against the foot of his bed.

“There’s not much I can tell, it’s just been a very weird week.”

In front of him, Iwaizumi nodded slowly, his gaze unsettling, as if he knew way more than he was willing to say. He reached for his glass of water, lost on the coffee table among piles of pens and notes and books that neither of them was really sure whose they were, and rested his elbow on the piece of furniture, turning his full attention to the other.

“You know, we’ve all noticed that Hanamaki and you have been acting pretty strange these days… Actually, Oikawa and I were certain that you two had confessed to each other the other day.”

A light smile played on his lips, warm and genuine, but it didn’t stop Takahiro from freezing.

“I guess not, then,” Iwaizumi continued — he was probably used to Matsukawa’s stretching silences. “But you know, you asked me to be honest, last time, and I still think you should make a move before graduation. It’d be stupid to waste something you two could have. You’ve said it yourself, even if he rejects you, nothing will change. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Takahiro stared at the other, too dumbfounded to reply. He kept turning Iwaizumi’s words over and over in his mind, looking for another meaning, searching for a misunderstanding that may crush his racing heart if it turned out he had gotten it wrong.

“When was…” he swallowed, tried again, speaking slowly even though he had stopped watching himself and didn’t care anymore whether he acted more like himself and less like the one he was supposed to be. “When was the last time we talked about this, already?”

Iwaizumi tilted his head, watching him closely, without departing from the light amusement that glowed on his features.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve been talking about your crush on Hanamaki for the past two months,” he said bluntly, and there was something in his voice, in his attitude, in the way he explained it that was disconcerting — a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes, as if he was trying something out and waited to see the result. “You came to me asking for advice, and I’ve been listening to you since that day.”

Takahiro blinked at the other, nodding slowly, registering the information that Matsukawa Issei, his friend, his best friend, the one that made his heart beat faster every time they shared a joke, the one he so desperately wanted to get _closer_ to, had been in lo— had had feelings for him for at least the past two months.

“Yeah, right,” he replied absentmindedly when Iwaizumi kept staring at him.

“Well, your exact words were ‘There’s no one else I can talk about this to, but I’d appreciate getting advice or at least some empathy.’”

“He— I said that?” Takahiro frowned.

Iwaizumi’s grin widened a little more. “Pretty much. Do you want me to remind you?”

* * *

**_Matsukawa Issei (online)_ **

< u forgot to tell me Iwaizumi and you were supposed to study today >

_20:34_

< Oh shit

How did it go? >

_20:34_

< we didn’t get much done tbh

but you had never told me you 2 had study sessions??

I’m jealous

next time I’ll invite myself over and I’ll make sure to bring Oikawa

just to teach you a lesson >

_20:35_

< I guess it won’t be much less productive >

_20:35_

< Did he day anything special?

day*

stay*

SAY* >

_20:41_

< no we mostly talked about school and vb

I thought I’d get some juicy stuff but you 2 are just smartasses >

_20:42_

< disappointed AND surprised >

_20:42_

_Matsukawa Issei is typing..._

Takahiro waited, his heart hammering in his chest, skipping a beat whenever the last line disappeared, missing another one whenever it reappeared.

_Did he say anything special?_

Iwaizumi had told the truth, then — not that Takahiro had had any reason to doubt it, not when his friend had spent nearly two hours gently mocking his (well, Matsukawa’s) obvious crush. Still, he couldn’t believe that it was real… and he definitely didn’t want to confront Matsukawa over the phone, especially not when he wouldn’t be able to see his face — _his_ face!! Emphasis on _his._

The line disappeared one last time and Matsukawa stopped texting for the rest of the night, but that didn’t mean Takahiro’s mind was over the realization.

He placed his phone on the bedside table and closed his eyes, but whenever he let his thoughts drift away, it always took him back to the same place. He replayed all the matches, all the jokes and the casual touches that had made his stomach flutter over the past months, and every time he lingered on the smile tugging at the corners of Matsukawa’s lips, on his gaze on him, on all the details that had made him fall deeper and that, apparently, hadn’t been false signals rubbed in his face in some kind of cruel farce. He found himself going back to these late evenings in the empty locker room, when the silence between them had been tenser than usual. He had thought he had imagined them all, the electricity in the air, the stolen glances, the lockers’ doors slammed shut with more strength than usual...

He snapped his eyes open and jumped to his feet. He badly needed a cold shower. Right now.

Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Takahiro scattered his clothes on the floor, throwing his hoodie over the mirror to avoid accidentally looking at it, and stepped into the shower without a second thought.

Damn it, it had taken him one full week to notice that not only did he look like Matsukawa, but he also smelt like him — and the obvious fact had had to strike him when he was standing defenseless in front of his own thoughts.

He leant back, pressing himself against the cold tiles to calm down his rushing thoughts and pulsing blood, but as soon as he blinked he pictured Issei pinning him against the wall, his hand sliding down— _Fuck._

No, he had promised himself he wouldn’t go that far. Takahiro had at least that much shame, dignity, or whatever stupid thing left in him not to stoop so low.

 _No, he didn’t_.

He let the water run on his body, hot and ever present, pushing him further into the claws of his vivid thoughts.

He ran a finger over his lips. He wanted to know what they tasted like. He wanted to be able to know.

His palm followed the outline of his stomach, down his abs, down, down, down, and he yearned to know what it’d be like to touch Issei like this with his own hands — to be touched like this by these hands.

He let out a shuddering breath when the pad of his thumb brushed the tip of his head, forcing himself not to look down. He wouldn’t go that far. He wouldn’t— 

Takahiro gave in to his thoughts, to all the dreams, day and night, that had haunted him and that he had tried so hard — relatively — to suppress, or at least to keep at bay.

Boundaries didn’t exist anymore, and fuck this stupid body swap. Issei liked him back, and he would never have expected so much from the world, even with such a cruel prank it had pulled on them.

His muscle memory knew everything Issei liked, knew exactly how he liked it, and Takahiro couldn't help but follow his instinct, his breath short and his hand working himself closer to the edge, closer to Issei than he had ever been — not closer, a part of him hoped, than he would ever be.

“Holy shit, Issei," he cursed under his breath.

There was a ping of shame in the pit of his stomach, but it was nothing compared to the wave of pleasure and the hot burn of forbidden acts that washed over him.

* * *

Issei couldn’t help but glance at Hanamaki whenever he knew he wouldn’t get caught, and there were several reasons that pushed him to. First of all, _Hanamaki liked him_ , and he still hadn’t recovered from the sudden discovery.

Secondly, Iwaizumi and he had spent a whole day together, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Iwaizumi had somehow brought his feelings up into the conversation… Issei had gone to him on a low day several months ago, seeking if not advice, at least some empathy and someone who would listen to him without judging him — and this was where Iwaizumi truly was the most reliable person, Hanamaki aside.

Lastly, Issei could feel that there had been a shift in Hanamaki’s energy. He looked more alive, more chaotic than before, and from the smug smile that lingered on his face, Issei was pretty sure that something had happened in his life.

All that he wanted was his body back, and then he would be able to ask him the questions that mattered.

Mondays were their day off, and so they settled for another round of crappy body swap movies, this time focusing on the Christmas-themed one. They couldn’t escape them, anyway, but in all honesty, they would rather have watched Halloween or bad sci-fi movies on this theme. Sadly, they didn’t exist.

They sat together on Hanamaki’s bed — his real bed, the one he should be sleeping in, the one Issei wanted to lay in because Hanamaki wanted him there and not because he had no other choice —, their shoulders brushing as they leant against the wall to face the laptop screen.

Every movie was worse than the last one, and after what seemed to be the twentieth cliché scene, Issei couldn’t stand watching anymore. At least there seemed to be a common pattern to those love-driven plots.

He rested the back of his head against the wall, a sigh escaping his lips, and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

“That didn’t help at all,” Hanamaki groaned, his voice sounding somewhere between upset and sulking. “Body swaps aren’t supposed to happen in real life. It’s been a week already, I want my body back.”

Issei hummed a vague answer, a part of his mind distractedly counting his heartbeats. From the silence that followed, he could tell that Hanamaki was staring at him. He allowed himself a few more minutes to make up his mind.

“A kiss,” Issei eventually let out when the silence stretched for too long, side-eyeing his best friend.

Hanamaki tensed, slowly turning his face to him, watching him like he had just lost his mind.

“That’s how they sorted it out in the movies,” Issei pointed out — he blessed his years of practise for being able to keep a straight face as he spoke. “It’s worth giving it a try.”

The other stared at him a bit longer and swallowed audibly. “Yeah.”

It would have been cute, Issei noted, the way his eyebrows knitted together, almost trembling. He was dying to see what Hanamaki would look like with such a flustered expression on his face.

He shifted to face the other, keeping his eyes on Hanamaki’s gaze, on what he could read into him, focusing solely on him.

His pupils were blown, two black holes gazing at him — want.

There was a tension in his shoulders; his fingers clenched on the bed sheet — anticipation. Apprehension.

He twitched when Issei reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, his thumb brushing the skin of his throat — a fight or flight response.

And finally, panic.

“The fuck, it’s like I’m gonna kiss myself!” Hanamaki swore in a slightly higher voice than usual, putting some distance between them.

But Issei was a patient man. He remained quiet, his serenity helping the other relax, and Hanamaki eventually came closer again.

“Close your eyes, then?” Issei offered.

He kept his voice soft and low, reassuring. Hanamaki took a deep breath and obeyed.

It better had to work. Issei wouldn’t stand having to leave on a defeat after such an opportunity.

He shut his eyelids as well and placed one hand on Hanamaki’s hip, tilting the other’s chin up. He stopped a breath away from his lips to give him another second to retract, but this time, Hanamaki didn’t pull away. His heart beating a little bit faster, Issei pressed their lips together and prayed for it to work.

* * *

As soon as their lips touched, Takahiro felt light-headed, as if the world had spun and frozen just as brutally. It was like getting motion sickness while laying in his bed.

He blinked when they parted, scowling in frustration, and his breath caught in his throat when he found himself staring at Issei. For a short second, his heart stopped beating at all, before it swole in his chest, threatening to burst out and explode.

They were back. It had worked. They were back!

He quickly took his hands off Issei. A burning wave, so deliciously familiar, crept up his cheeks and he knew for sure that his face was sporting a deep shade of red — and it was out of joy and happiness and love and so much more.

Goddammit, they were _back_! It felt so good to relearn his own body! To be in his own clothes!

His thoughts stopped dead in their tracks when Issei opened his eyes again — his heart skipped another worrying beat.

Issei didn’t move away. He stayed there, _gazing_ at Takahiro like he had just won the lottery, a lazy, almost smug smile playing on his lips, and for some reason, a sudden calm washed over Takahiro in the middle of his internal outburst, like the eye of a storm.

Takahiro was there and Issei was there and there were so many things swirlings in these dark eyes that Takahiro couldn’t help but stare back.

“Say something,” he begged, nearly jumping at the sound of his own voice.

Something glinted in Issei’s eyes, almost playful.

“You like me, right?”

The corners of Takahiro’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile. He saw himself in front of the mirror again — his impersonation had been wrong on so many levels.

“So do you, I’ve heard,” he allowed himself to brag.

Issei lifted an amused eyebrow, his look sliding down to the other’s lips, and Takahiro couldn’t help but do the same.

“What do you say we keep on kissing?” Issei suggested.

Takahiro didn’t miss a beat.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he breathed.

The next thing he knew, he was on Issei’s lap, his arms around his neck and Issei’s hand firm and steady on his back, leaving no distance between them, as if their bodies were only one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this fic, I hope you liked it! Seijoh week was another good experience and I have way more Haikyuu works waiting to be published!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AngstWeaver) | [Other Haikyuu fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptaManent/works?fandom_id=758208)


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